


Welcome, Ghosts

by quondam



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9262196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quondam/pseuds/quondam
Summary: Abusing an old human privilege belonging to Captains of ships, Shepard marries herself and Garrus the night before the big push on Earth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic I found while looking through unfinished work. I believe this had been posted to the kinkmeme some time ago, but apparently never made it onto here.
> 
> For the request: So traditionally the Captain of a ship can perform a binding marriage, right? I want a fic about fem!Shep and Garrus deciding, in the hours before the fleet hits the Sol Relay, that no matter what happens in the coming battle they want their commitment formalised beforehand. 
> 
> Happy ending if it goes into that please, though vaguely melancholy, desperate, just-married-but-we-could-both-die-in-a-couple-of-hours porn would be more than okay.

It was well into the night—or what passed for the night cycle on the Normandy—with the ambient lighting throughout the ship turned down just a hair, all the lights a tad softer and more forgiving on the eyes. Shepard’s cabin was no different, though she usually kept the bright lights to a minimum anyway, her one sanctuary on the ship that she allowed herself to relax in given the time for such behavior… which wasn’t very often.

With eyes clenched shut, she drowned herself in a mug of wine, though she treated it much more like an amber colored beer than the crimson stuff she was drinking, nearly chugging what remained until it was empty.

  
“Things really must be desperate out there…” Garrus said, just barely startling her, as he stepped down into the bedroom space of her quarters. “The Reapers have already won if we’re getting drunk from coffee mugs.”

Shepard shifted forward on the couch to reach for the bottle of wine, pouring another helping into her own ceramic mug and then filling the sole remaining wine glass with some for him from a separate bottle that housed liquid for the dextro preferring kind. “If you hadn’t broken the other glass last time,” she started, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a subdued smile as she raised the stemmed glass to him, only relinquishing hold when his three-taloned grasp was secure as he sat down.

His mandibles flexed and clicked, eyes lighting up at the reference back to the shards of broken glass from a few days back, pieces of which were still turning up on her floor despite how hard the two of them had tried to clean it up. “Ah, I’m sorry, I distinctly remember you were the one who knocked it off the coffee table.”

She conceded with a nod, taking another deep sip, wiping her wet lips with the side of her hand. “But you,” she teased, a glint in her eye, “were the one that wanted to fuck on that table so bad, Garrus.”

The words of a retort spun in his head, but he hesitated, eyes catching hers as he sipped his drink. “Yeah,” was all he said, suddenly smug, “I did.”

Shepard let out a quiet laugh, restrained and tired, as if it all wasn’t already evident across her face and in her battle worn muscles.

“You’re drinking awfully fast, even for you, Shepard,” he said, and set his drink on the table. It was hardly touched at all. His palm rested on her arm, not bothering to move to soothe into her skin or stroke her flesh until she got those goosebumps he was so fascinated by, just remaining solid and there.

“Got some things on my mind,” she said simply, and eventually gave up her cup as well, abandoning it beside his on that table top she’d cleaned down with bleach after their last encounter upon it.

Garrus gave a low hum in response, vocal cords vibrating a little rougher than a human male’s. “No kidding, with everything coming tomorrow—”

But he was cut off as Shepard abruptly stood, pacing over a three foot section of flooring before she came to just as sudden of a stop, hands on her hips. “It’s not about tomorrow.” She paused, cocked her head to the side slightly and squinted her eyes just barely as if deep in thought. “Well, it is. It is and it isn’t.”

The plates just above his eyes flexed in confusion, watching from where he sat on the couch. “You’ve got something more important on your mind than the Reaper invasion?” His voice rose at the end of his question, a bit of humor in his speech.

Her eyes softened as she remained still for a second longer, though there was hesitation behind them, something she so rarely—if ever—had otherwise. “You asked me awhile ago, Garrus, if I was a one Turian kind of woman.”

“Spirits,” he said, and if it was at all possible for a Turian to blanche, Shepard swore she’d seen it just then. “Are you trying to tell me—the night before we head to certain death—that there’s someone else…” He just about growled his words out, unfamiliar with the wash of jealousy that thrummed through him.

“Garrus—” She tried to interrupt him, finally cutting across the space that divided them and leaning over just enough to set her hands on his boney, cloth covered, knees. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

It seemed to calm him down enough, his body relaxing with relief. She could see the tension still ringing in him, however, one of his fists curled unnaturally tight together.

“Are you a one woman kind of Turian?”

For a second he was unclear of her words, those humans could be so funny about the hidden meanings behind what they said sometimes—not that he’d ever been a poet when it came to his own speech. But after a second of doubt, he simply nodded, slow and shallow. “You know I am.”

It set her face alight, lips pulled into a smile even Commander Shepard couldn’t hold back, her eyes showing that happiness just as much. It made Garrus’ features react similarly, if only for the knowledge that his words had such an effect on her.

Shepard tried to steady her nerves with deeper breaths, and the fact that of all the times in her life that right now she would actually be nervous, wasn’t lost on her. “Back on Palaven,” she began, and finally took her seat beside him again, this time her body curled tightly into his side, her hand resting on his thigh. “Were there a lot of couples like us? I mean, Turian and something else. Human. Asari… whatever.”

His arm slid around her, fingers stroking at her opposite upper arm, delighting in the fact that he could feel her bare skin and not thick clothing or thicker armor. Flesh to flesh was such a rarity for them. “No, not so much. Off of Palaven, sure. I mean… it still wasn’t popular, but it happened. People may not have talked about it, but yeah—” he fumbled over his words “—of course, it happened. Human, though, probably more rare than the rest. Aside from… Hanar,” he laughed, a small rumble in his chest. “Why do you ask?”

Her brows pushed together, eyes off on the distance of her nightstand at the other end of the room. “Does your father know about us?”

The question caught him off guard, and he stiffened a little, neck craning to get the most direct look at her as possible. “Why are you asking now?”

“Because,” her head shook, hand rubbing over her cheek as if some imaginary bruise was there to soothe into. In reality, it was just an idle distraction. “The last thing I want to do is cause a rift. You’ve got family left, for most people right now, Garrus, that’s rare.”

“Shepard,” the pads of his talons touched the bone of her jaw, turned her to look at him by force, “This line of thinking… it’s not you. And no, my father doesn’t know about the—the nature of this relationship, but Turians, we’re not like humans. We don’t talk about things like this, about what we feel for someone. When things get formal, it’s different. There are traditions and rules, but hell, we know I’ve never been good at following all the rules. Especially when it comes to you.”

A small smile passed over her mouth, and Shepard gave a faint nod to show she’d heard and processed his words.

“I dont want you to—to worry about him, though. I’d stand by you through anything, even,” he stopped, and one edge of his mouth lifted in a smirk, “especially if it meant a final fuck you to the old man.”

It did the trick in making her laugh, even if she held it back. Her hand raised and she stroked over the hard, but rough, surface of his scarred mandible. It was a loving gesture—one that was entirely too human—and that Garrus had grown to love over their time together. His mandibles flared into her touch, that soft Turian purr vibrating with each stroke she gave.

“I want to marry you, Garrus,” she confessed at a volume that was barely above a whisper. Her eyes met his. “Tonight. Before I lose the chance to.”

“Jane…” He breathed out her first name, the one so very few knew and even less dared to call her by. His own hand stretched to mimic her action, palming and stroking over her jaw. “You really want that—with me?”

“No, I was just kidding,” she teased, but just as quickly, corrected herself with a nod, biting in a nervous anxiousness over her lower lip. “Damn what anyone else thinks, human or Turian or otherwise.”

“I don’t know much about human courtship,” he spoke hesitantly, continuing to stroke her skin, “but I know that sometimes it doesn’t work out and you go your separate ways. It’s not so easy for Turians. Once you bond yourself to someone…”

“—I’m sure. If you’re sure, so am I.”

He leaned in, nuzzling his cheek to her own as his eyes shut. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Shepard slipped her arms around his neck, holding herself to him as closely as could be managed, their bodies desperately trying to become some amalgam of the two of them. This, this was where she wanted to live and die. She lost herself like that, and it was only him pulling back and his voice that woke her out of where she’d fallen to.

“I hate to ruin the moment… but it’s the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, how exactly are we going to work this out? Unless you’re telling me in addition to Jimmy Vega’s illustrious stripping career he’s also—”

“I’m a Captain, Garrus.”

“No, you’re a Commander, and what does that have to do with it?”

She shook her head and for the first moment in some time, Shepard parted from him to cross her cabin to retrieve the datapad on her desk. “I may not be a Captain by rank, but I’m the Captain of the Normandy. And at least when it comes to humans, it’s an old seafaring tradition that the Captain of any ship can marry a couple. Just as legal and binding as a judge or a priest.”

The plate above one of his eyes rose in speculation, watching her as her fingers danced across the datapad’s screen. “You’ve been thinking about this for awhile, haven’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed, eyes averting his own to look down to the glow of the screen. “What’s it to you, Vakarian?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Garrus stood to near her and his hands rose, palms offered up in a white flag, though there was a hint of laughter in his words. “But you couldn’t have picked a better time and place—say, you know—not the night before we’re all going to probably die? Maybe had us stop off on some little planet, got us in a honeymoon first?”

“Turians go on honeymoons?” She deflected.

“Please, humans weren’t the first species to want to take an entire holiday to practice reproduction.”

Shepard grinned wantonly, eyes heavy-lidded. “There’s a few nice places on Earth I’ve heard about, but never seen. When this is all over, we’ll go.”

“Commander Shepard takes a vacation, I don’t think that’s a story I’ve heard before.”

She took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers in between his talons. “It will be.” For a moment, she let herself be fooled into thinking that they’d make it out of this on the other side, if for only his sake. She wouldn’t let her words feel hollow to him. “EDI?” She raised her voice and asked the silence of the room.

“Yes, Commander Shepard?”

“I need you to turn on the recording program for my quarters.”

“Recording online. Is that all, Commander?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask, EDI.”

“As Normandy’s AI, I am here to serve, Commander. Favors need not be asked.”

Shepard rolled her eyes at the correction. “I need you to be a witness for us. For wedding vows.”

If it was at all possible to stun an AI, Shepard was sure she’d done it just then when the computer took half a second to respond. “Perhaps an organic member of the crew would be better suited for this job, Commander.”

“You’re part of my crew, EDI. I want it to be you.”

“If you are certain… then it would be an honor.”

“How are we supposed to do this?” Garrus questioned as they ventured forth into uncharted territory for either of them.

Shepard merely turned until they were facing one another directly, his hand still clasped within hers. “You just stand there… and I’ll stand here,” she said nervously, her other hand still fumbling with the datapad.

“Isn’t there something about rings, and a dress? There used to be this woman at C-Sec who rattled on about her wedding for months…”

“The words are what’s important,” Shepard corrected him, “the rest is just bullshit. The words, though, that’s what matters.”

He nodded obediently and as always, let Shepard lead the way.

“This marriage is between Garrus Vakarian and Jane Shepard,” she read the words aloud, voice quaking ever so slightly the further she proceeded on. “Are you, Garrus Vakarian, here of your own free will?”

His mandibles widened with a bit of laughter he let out. “I am.”

“And I, Jane Shepard, am as well,” she confirmed for herself, albeit a bit awkwardly. “I, Jane Shepard, take Garrus Vakarian to be my lawfully wedded spouse.”

Catching on, he returned her sentiments. “I, Garrus Vakarian, take Jane Shepard to be my lawfully wedded spouse.”

“In front of our witness and as the acting Captain of the Alliance vessel, Normandy SR-2, I confirm and declare there are no reasons why we may not be wed.” She set the datapad down to her side, letting it come to a rough rest on the desk’s surface so she could turn her full attention back to the man across from her. There was a moment there where she just let herself breathe and drink him in, the words they’d just spoken ringing in her ears. “I now pronounce us, husband and wife.”

He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate, and even though this was very much a human custom and not a Turian one—he knew exactly what to do. His arms pulled her in close and he dipped his head down to meet hers, relishing the feel of her fingers at the back of his skull and at the underside of his fringe just before their mouths met—her softer and fuller lips to his harder plates. It had been an awkward match the first go around those months ago, but something they engaged in with practiced ease as of late.

Tears forced out at the corners of her eyes even with her eyelids closed tight, and Shepard willed herself not to lose it at this final step, with the metallic taste of his mouth against hers. The one good thing she’d had in her life, the piece that she’d always felt was missing, was now hers for as long as either of them lived. Even if in all likelihood, neither of them would make it past the twenty-four hour mark. She dug her fingers into the smooth hide at the back of his neck as she tried to force the idea from her mind.

“Spirits,” he whispered when they finally pulled back, if only to gather their breath. He didn’t let her go far, only permitting inches of space between them, enough distance so they could meet one another’s gaze without going cross eyed in the process. “I’m afraid I’m going to close my eyes and wake up.”

“No, no,” she assured him, head shaking slightly, even as a lone tear forced its way down her cheek. “You’re here, with me, forever.”

He pressed his mouth to her cheek and the trail that tear had gone, and for the first time cursed at his different biology, so desperately wishing he had lips as soft as hers to kiss away that salty liquid that betrayed her. “I love you, Jane,” he breathed out into her skin.

Her lungs hitched at his admission, if only because she’d never heard it from him before. It wasn’t that she believed he hadn’t meant it, it just hadn’t been a Turian thing to speak those words outloud, unlike the need for it humans seemed to have. When he said it, it meant all the more to her. “I love you, Garrus.”

They held eachother like that, not even kissing, for the next minute, content to feel the expansion and contraction of the other person’s breathing. For Shepard, it was a comfort that brought her back to all the nights they’d shared together, his chest pressed to her back. For Garrus, it was a reminder that though she’d died three years ago, she’d done the impossible. She’d come back and for some reason, chosen to spend her life with him.

“EDI?” Shepard said from where her face was buried into his throat. “Thank you. Turn off the recording—”

“Wait,” Garrus interrupted, lifting his head to part from Shepard, standing at his full height again as he looked down at her. “There’s a custom that signifies an official Turian marriage. It should be on the video, too. So there’s no question.”

Shepard looked up to him and simply nodded. She hadn’t had the time to research into what a Turian ceremony would include, but whatever he wanted to do, she wouldn’t deny that of him.

He led her by the hand to the bed, and while she sat down on the edge and raised a questioning brow, Garrus left to head up through the entrance and office, and in to the small private bathroom they’d both come to share as of late. She heard the running of the faucet, even saw the build up of steam as hot water ran, and only when the water ceased to flow, did she see him approach, a small white hand towel within his grasp.

Garrus kneeled on the floor in front of her, one handedly brushing her hair from her face before he—with the gentlest movements she’d ever seen of him—began the crude process of washing her face with the damp cloth. There wasn’t much to remove, perhaps a faint brush of eye makeup and the day’s perspiration, but Garrus continued on slowly until the heat from the towel had gone cold, and the tension and worry that had once been in Shepard’s body was gone.

He always tried to take care of her in small ways when she’d allow it, and this was one of those times she didn’t fight him. Less and less, she realized, she was arguing with him on these matters. How strange of a feeling it was to really let someone else in.

Garrus left her once more, this time only over to one of the drawers in her quarters she’d cleared out for some of his things, and he returned not half a minute later with the small container and brush she’d so often seen him with. It had fascinated her the first time she’d seen him at the mirror in her bathroom removing and painting on his family markings fresh, his hand steady and with such a practiced ease that came from a lifetime of doing so.

“Whoever’s house they decide to live under, the husband’s or the wife’s,” he said, twisting open the top of the container and dipping the tip of the brush in, “they wash the other’s face clean of the old markings, and paint them new for their partner.”

Shepard listened, eyes shutting even as nerves coiled up again in her stomach. They weren’t anxious or nervous this time, not really, but something else. Honored. Touched. Some kind of feeling she couldn’t ever find the words to describe, a feeling that only intensified as she felt the cool substance be brushed against her skin, tracing a delicate outline across her nose and cheekbones.

“Just for tonight,” he said quietly as he began to fill in the lines that were identical to his own, although they appeared slightly different on her features. As a non-Turian, he would never expect her to day-in and day-out spend her time painting her flesh with the blue paint, in fact he wasn’t sure he’d like it, as he far more appreciated her supple pink skin… but for the night they married, it would be just this once.

Her eyes opened as she heard the sound of the container of paint being closed and set aside along with the brush. Garrus was still there, kneeling between her legs, hands on her thighs as he looked up to her with something akin to awe.

“Do I look like Mrs. Vakarian?”

Garrus laughed, warm and bright, his eyes tracing over the lines of already dried paint. “Who are we kidding, I’m definitely Mr. Shepard.”

She joined him in laughing, her palms trailing along his mandibles. “EDI. You can turn the recording off now. Have the video preserved and archived in every server on the ship. And if we get in contact with any relay beacon, send the footage as well. Wherever you can.” She leaned in, kissed Garrus’ brow. “I don’t want this to be lost.”

“Done, Commander. …And if I can say so, I believe it is time to say ‘Congratulations.’ I’ll make sure you two aren’t disturbed unless there is an emergency that requires your attention, Shepard.”

They let the silence sit for a moment, both pairs of eyes reflecting back on one another, their minds otherwise engaged in processing the last half an hour.

“I don’t know if it’s the same for humans…” Garrus’ voice trailed off, speculatively.

“Trust me,” she said, having an idea where his thoughts were going. Shepard leaned in, grasping at the raised ridges of his collar as she leaned down to him, pressing her mouth to his. “All species spend their wedding night fucking the other sore.”

A growl erupted from the back of his throat, and an instant later he had sprung up, pushing Shepard back on the bed, his body poised and held above hers. Their hips pressed together, still clothed, mouths joined to further seek out the taste they’d long since committed to memory.

Shepard wrapped a leg around his small waist, rubbing his backside with her calf and the heel of her bare foot. While before they’d been soft and subdued, they were suddenly feverish and rough, fingers and talons both fighting as they groped at one another all over. She cried out as she felt the plates of his pelvis grind against the junction of her thighs, already sensing the sticky slickness beneath her clothes. She’d been ready for him hours ago.

“Too much on,” she panted in between kisses to his mandible, fingers hooking into the hem of the casual shirt he wore. There was something she loved about pulling his armor off of him, but for right now she was thankful he’d been wearing his civvies as they were much easier to work with. Garrus corrected his posture, rising up on his knees to pull his own shirt from over his head, while Shepard, on her back and below him, began to untuck her own shirt quickly.

“Let me,” he pleaded, pushing her hands away, and his talons replaced hers. Shepard sat up, her legs remaining splayed and draped over his thighs, giving him easier access to remove what covered her torso. While in the upright position, her hands traveled to his waist and with the same eagerness she always brought to their romps, began releasing the clasps and buckles, even sliding her palms between his hide and the cloth as they ran over his backside. Oh she’d grown to love that small Turian ass over the months. With a playful squeeze to the soft hide, she heard him rumble in appreciation.

He had less trouble with her pants, unbuttoning and unzipping, and then toughly pulling the pants and underwear from over her rear end. Garrus, with much reluctance, slid off the bed to continue to tug at her clothing, and Shepard was happy to oblige as she extended her legs straight, allowing for further ease of removal. She shifted closer to the edge of the bed and helped him with his own trousers, pushing the fabric down over his sharp hips and leg sockets. She leaned in to the front of his pelvis, where the two plates met that protected and hid away his reproductive parts in times of non-arousal, lips touching gently. That first time they’d been together, she’d been more than confused with the lack of anything when she’d gotten him undressed, not quite sure how in the hell they would make it work, after all. It had, though, with time, and Shepard had honed her skills since then. Even from the sleepiest, most tired Turian, she knew how to draw his erection out.

On cue, Garrus gave a deep groan as Shepard’s wet tongue snaked out, teasing the hard plates.

“Mmm,” she hummed, repeating the process until she felt the shift in his body, and his cock finally made it’s entrance, hardening on contact with the air. Shepard dragged her cheek blindly along its rigid length, feeling the ridges and bumps that had once scared her, but now she knew gave him something of an advantage to any human male. How the rest of the females of her race hadn’t run with open arms to Turian males—she hadn’t a clue.

“Shepard…” He warned, feeling her lips graze the flesh of him, even the warm heat of her mouth engulf him for only a second.

“Jane,” she corrected him, lifting her head as she sat back up, and looked up towards his height where he stood. “Just Jane.” It was a habit of his and she was going to break him of it, especially now that they were bonded.

She inched her way back on the bed, stopping only to stretch her hands behind her and release the clasp of her bra, baring her breasts to him in the final piece of the puzzle. How clueless, but curious, he’d been of those their first few times together, not that she believed the mystery of them would ever die to him. Breasts had never been a Turian trait, in fact they were more rare than common in all the alien species put together.

Garrus followed her across the bed just as loyally as he did in battle, though he took a sliver of defiance in kissing at her warm thighs once he caught musky scent of the aroma emanating from between her thighs. He looked towards her and Shepard was biting at her lip, elbows behind her propping her slightly up. He clicked his mandibles, and as if she could understand what that had subtly signaled, Shepard willingly parted her milky thighs wide. He nearly melted.

His tongue lapped at the glistening liquid on her inner thighs that had been generated by her arousal, tasting the tang that was so exclusively Shepard. “Never seen you this wet,” he said appreciatively. While Turian sex was never dry, it was never as messy as this was, a fact he’d grown to love. The first time they’d been together it had alarmed him, not to mention that just as human women had hair on their heads, they had some down below as well. The vids Garrus had watched had never really shown how properly wet a woman could get, and for reasons he didn’t understand, had always featured women completely bald below the waist. He’d asked her about it and he could still recall the way Shepard—always so stern and strong—had wavered for half a second, concerned he was put off by the small amount she sported. No, he’d corrected her, he loved it. And he still did.

Her thighs quivered as his tongue snaked out, licking her from her entrance on up to where she’d taught him that bundle of nerves were positioned. Since then, he’d become an expert in her body: how she liked to be touched, what her moans meant, when to back off. Shepard gave a sharp cry from just how aroused she was when his tongue first swirled around her clitoris, and he let the rough ridges of his tongue circle around the bud. He glanced up her body and her eyes were on him, one of her hands kneading into her breast, pinching and tugging at a rosy nipple.

He continued on, moving back down to slip his tongue inside her, probing her small entrance, before he pushed a talon in, mindful of its sharpness once inside of her. Shepard’s punctuated breathing and soft moans were enough to urge him on, and it didn’t take much to push her to orgasm as the soft pad of his talon inside of her rubbed against that inner spot he knew to be particularly sensitive, while his mouth simultaneously worried her clit until she broke. Her thighs squeezed around his head tightly as she came, hips bucking involuntarily into his mouth, and only when it began to subside did her muscles relax, her body completely easing itself into the bed. Garrus continued shallow strokes of his tongue over her labia as she came back to herself, eventually easing up onto his knees, working his way up her body until he was above her.

Shepard opened her eyes slowly, cheeks and lips flushed with signs of her orgasm. A hand lazily stretched to his jaw, fingers wiping at the glimmer of her fluids on his mouth and mandibles. She dared to dip those fingers into her mouth afterwards, relishing the way his mouth opened in awe and pure arousal as he watched her taste herself.

“Do I still taste good to you?”

His body vibrated with a growl of appreciation. “Like nothing I’ve ever had before.”

She smiled, lifted her head just enough to meet his mouth, tongue rubbing against his through their open lips.

“Please,” she whined against the corner of his mouth. “Need you inside me.”

Garrus purred, nodding as the plates of his forehead touched barely to hers. One hand slid down between them, smoothing over an outer thigh of her legs and lowering his hips against her own as he’d done earlier when they were still dressed. Now, though, his swollen cock barely rubbed over moist outer lips between her legs. Shepard, for her part, raised her hips enough to tease him further. Enticement. Reward.

Her hand met his between their hips, and together, they dragged the head of his cock along her wet folds, gaining the necessary moisture. His dick, like the rest of him, was much stiffer, harder, and slightly more abrasive, than any human’s—not to mention bigger all around—and Mordin had been right all that time ago when he’d warned about chaffing. With enough slickness, though, they’d discovered it not to be as much of a problem.  
Garrus pushed the head against her entrance, not forcing itself inside just yet, but testing the waters. Shepard moaned in pleasure, eyes catching his as he tried again. Another moan and he went further, inching his way inside, and Shepard hissed, a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Slow, slow,” she repeated, feeling him stretch at her, her body relearning his girth each time.

He nodded, easing himself in with caution as his hand snaked around to the small of her back, lifting her hips to help with the angle of entry.

Shepard’s fingers ran up and down his back, shutting her eyes intermittently as she felt the pleasurable twinge of him filling her up further than any normal man had ever before. And then, nearly at the end, she hooked her legs around his backside and with one final push, pulled him all the way inside her. She let out the loudest moan of her life and wasn’t surprised to hear Garrus’s own along with hers.

For a second they stilled, until Shepard’s legs released him, a sign of her readiness to continue and to let him govern the pace. Garrus ran with it when given the chance, sliding out slowly, and then back in a little faster, repeating the process until their rhythm easily established without trouble or hiccups.

Shepard moaned with each thrust inside of her, feeling the ridges of his cock rubbing back and forth against her insides. It was nearly torture how good it felt, all of it. Garrus arched his back and his head fell down towards her breasts, lapping at her nipple before tugging it gently between his sharp teeth, careful as always not to puncture her flesh.

Despite their slow start, the pace grew frantic almost immediately, and Shepard stretched one arm back behind her to push at the low wall for leverage, her other hand stroking at the underside of his fringe where it connected with his skull, a particularly erogenous place on him, she’d discovered.

“Jane,” he moaned, repeating her name as he grew closer and closer, and Shepard returned it with calls of his, although the words were completely lost as she finally did come, orgasm washing through her body like one of those waves in the ocean that completely pulled you under. Inside, her inner walls clenched around him, biological functions urging him on to release so that their offspring could have a chance, even if for human and Turian, such a pairing was sure to never happen.

“Come, Garrus, for me,” she begged, both with a loving affection, and heated desire. As if all he needed was permission, Garrus’ cock released his seed inside of her in spurts of hot liquid.

Their bodies were nearly puddles afterward, limbs interlocked and tangled around one another like they’d never be pried apart. His weight rested against hers, limp form crushing down on her chest, but Shepard could take the pressure, even enjoyed the sensation of being so completely overwhelmed and consumed by him. Garrus’ face was tucked into the crook of her neck, her hand stroking the back of his skull and nape of his neck as she enjoyed the sweaty stickiness between their flesh, and the feeling of his softening cock still inside of her. That fullness, she’d never tire of that.

“Spirits… I love you, Shepard,” he whispered into her hair.

Though he couldn’t see, she smiled as she kissed into his neck. “I love you, too.”  
  
—  
  
They said their goodbyes the next day in London. He dragged the tip of his talon along her cheeks and nose, the path the blue paint had taken up until that morning when he’d helped her wash it off before facing her crew. Children, he’d mentioned, and for a second Garrus had allowed himself to forget that it was impossible. They were taking on the Reapers. If she could save them all, then they’d find away to make children together. Damn the odds.

She kissed him there too, in front of everyone. The Primarch, the other Turian soldiers. It was a human gesture, but he didn’t care, he indulged. He ordered her to come home.

When he watched her go, his chest hurt and his eyes burned. Fear overwhelmed him without warning, desperately hoping that the night before hadn’t been her concession to him because she knew she wouldn’t make it out alive.

Damn it, Shepard, he thought. You have to come back.  
  
—  
  
The war ended in the blink of an eye, every Reaper suddenly ceasing their prior actions, all defenses gone. They pulled off the planets just as quickly, and as if they knew the exact safe distance from each and every ship and planet they’d once been attacking, each Reaper burst, mechanical guts spilling out into the star systems far and wide.

The Citadel, it had done something of the same.  
  
—  
  
The worst feeling was the grief he felt in the hours afterward. It wrecked him in ways he was sure had never happened to a Turian, his body too weak to stand as that keening cry was let out. He wanted to cry, wanted to sob, but his biology didn’t allow for it, and that was more pain to add to the load. He wanted to _grieve_ for her. He wanted to let his tears hit the soil on Earth, to show what she had meant to him, and yet it was in his god damned DNA that he could never do such a thing. Such a human thing.

Normandy had been one of the first ships to return to Earth in the aftermath, with the rest of the fleets choosing to further fire upon the defeated Reaper carcasses. Kaidan and Liara, they forced him back onto the ship—her ship—and it was EDI’s life-like mechanical body that immediately approached him when he came on board.

“Officer Vakarian,” she said, and there was an all too organic-like tremor in her voice. Grief, she was somehow feeling it, as well. “Commander Shepard had me record a message for you this morning while you slept.”

Garrus loved and hated Shepard all at once. He’d been right, after all. She’d gone into it believing she would die. While he lay asleep beside her, she’d said her words of goodbye. Anger raged through his body, but not more overwhelming then the pain, and with reluctance, he let EDI upload the data to his omni-tool. He set it to play through his visor and stepped away to a corner of the ship to have his last moment with the woman that had, and would always be, his wife.

She was bare in the image, sheets around her waist as she sat on her side of the bed. Behind her, he could see his own equally undressed body slumbering in her white sheets. How this had only been a day earlier, he couldn’t comprehend. Shepard brushed the hair from her eyes, ran her fingers through the sleep mussed lengths, and then finally looked directly to wherever the recording drone had been hovering. Blue ink was still over her cheeks, the lines of dried paint crisp.

“Don’t be mad,” Shepard started, knowing him too well. There was a softness to her, and it didn’t take a second for Garrus to understand that the Shepard he was seeing now was the most open, most genuine version of herself. Around others, she was crude and hard, someone made from the life she’d lived. A rough growing up. The pain she’d endured. The people she’d sacrificed. Every single life she’d taken. Dying once and coming back. Built out of pieces of her dead flesh and costly cybernetics by Cerberus. She let Garrus in more than anyone else, but until now, she’d always held something back. Some little slip of herself.

“I want you to know,” she said, tears coating her eyes so thick that they glistened even in the light of the recording, “that I didn’t marry you just because I thought I was going to die. I did it because I… because there was nothing more I wanted these last few weeks than to know what this would be like.” Her head shook as tears fell, and Shepard looked away, wiped furiously at her cheeks and eyes though new tears just replaced the old. The whites of her eyes were red when she looked back. “And it was better than I thought.” She broke further, a soft cry slipping out, though it was clear she tried to keep it quiet, glancing back towards his form behind her to make sure he was still asleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to say this to your face, Garrus. You may think I’m strong, that I can do anything, but this… I’m not strong enough for this. I’d sacrifice everyone if I could, take the Normandy with our crew and run off to some planet far away, hide out from the Reapers and hope we weather the storm. That doesn’t make me as good as you think I am, but it’s the truth, and it’s all I want right now.”

That grief swelled a thousand fold as he watched and listened to her.

“I will get to spend the rest of my life with you, though. Just not as long as either of us hoped. I want you to know that I never loved anyone else but you. Not even close. And if you hadn’t been here after Cerberus brought me back… Garrus, I think I would’ve let myself die back on that Collector ship, let the explosion rip me into a million pieces so Cerberus could never put me back together again. But you were there, and I wanted to get back to you.”

The Shepard in the image stilled for a second, turning around in bed and leaning over where the Garrus of the past slept on his stomach, facing away from the camera. He watched as Shepard kissed at his mandible, his fringe, the thick ridged collar, the plates of his back. So desperately, he tried to imagine it now: the feel of her breasts pressing into his back, the dragging of her fingertips along his hide. She stopped eventually, turning around to look back towards the camera.

“EDI is going to transmit the record of our marriage to all the Alliance vessels when we reach the Sol system. It’ll take them awhile to notice it, but they will once this is all finished. If they find my body…” She stopped, looking down at her bare hands on her lap, and sniffed loudly before she glanced back up and to him. “It’ll go to you, as my husband. I need you to make sure the Alliance doesn’t parade my corpse around, make sure what happened after Alchera doesn’t happen again. Burn me, I don’t care what you do. Don’t let someone bring me back from beyond death to do their work for them again.”

For awhile he’d been able to lose himself in the image of her, forgetting the horrible events of the last day. That was, until, the recorded image of her had begun to talk about her own impending death. He paused the playback, gathering himself before letting it continue a few minutes later.

“Bury whats left of me somewhere good. If Fiji is still around and still beautiful after the Reapers, bury me there. I’ve seen pictures, I wish we could have gone there together. And I know that… I know you said I was your bondmate for life, but I want you to go on. If you find someone else, be happy. Have a few kids, teach them to shoot and tell them about all the awful trouble I got you into. When the day comes when you do die, though, you’re mine. I’ll see you then.” Tears spilled openly down her cheeks again, her chest shaking as she desperately tried to keep herself together. “I promise. I love you, don’t forget how much.” Her hand raised, fingers covering a portion of the camera lens as if she was touching through the recording and directly to him.

“I love you,” Shepard repeated.

“I love you,” he replied, and watched as she returned towards the middle of the bed where he had laid, and curled herself up against the image of him. His head lifted from the pillow, turning sleepy-eyed towards her.

“Everything alright?” Garrus heard himself mumble in the recording.

Her head bobbed. “It’s fine, go back to sleep.” And he had, eyes shutting as his arm curled back around her and held her close. The video cut off.

He didn’t move for the longest time afterward, eyes shut as he replayed the video in his head: the amount of tears she’d shone without restraint for what he imagined was the first time in her life, the favor she’d asked of him towards the end. Find her body. Keep her safe. Bring her home.

“EDI?” Garrus called out.

“Yes? May I be of some assistance?”

“Tell Joker we have to go up to the wreckage of the Citadel.”  
  
—  
  
From Hackett’s mouth, the crew of the Normandy knew there to already be a few Alliance ships surveying the wreckage of the Citadel. Looking for survivors, he’d said, but everyone knew he meant looking for bodies and answers as to what had happened to help them begin to get victory in their cross hairs. It had only been hours, twelve or so, since the war had officially turned, but for what remained of Normandy’s crew, there wasn’t a moment to be wasted.

A Geth ship met them just beyond the Citadel, a handful of volunteers—and how odd it was to think that Geth could now consider themselves individuals and volunteer for something—boarding the Normandy to help with rescue efforts. For Shepard Commander, they’d said, they would help them find what remained of her.

Normandy pulled alongside a particularly large hunk of the Citadel, a piece of the base rather than the arms. Joker did his very best at attempting to ‘dock’ with the fragment of what used to be a large and grand floating city, while the organic crew in their closed hardsuits and the synthetic crew in nothing but their mechanical pieces climbed across and on to the outer, jagged hull. Two-by-two each group set out through the ship, armed with flashlights and weaponry, and their omni-tools tethered in to EDI so their locations, at all times, could be monitored.

“There are no readings coming from Shepard’s armor,” EDI said as she and Garrus, with the aid of grav-boots, tried to locate any way in to parts of the still sealed interior of the hunk of Citadel.

“There wouldn’t be,” Liara’s voice cut in over the comm link, “I saw her go into the beam after we’d all been hit. Her armor… most of it had been blown off by then.”

It was a fact that hadn’t been previously revealed, but Garrus kept on, only coming to a stop as they encountered one of the few intact doors. It was in the closed position, but without power, was stuck that way. He pulled out a knife and tried to force it apart where it split, wiggling the sharp metal for leverage.

“Let me,” EDI said, and approached with her hand and omni-tool raised. “I can reroute some of my power to open the door, but we’ll have seconds to get in. Readings indicate there’s pressure from this point in.”

He nodded to her silently, and after a temporary flash of glow from her omni-tool over the door, the doors parted halfway, a rush of air pushing on past them and out into space. Garrus went in first, EDI following, before the door predictably closed behind them. Garrus held his gun up, flashlight shining the way. It didn’t look like any part of the Citadel he’d ever seen.

“Are you picking up anything? I really don’t think we’re ready to face off a banshee that got trapped in here,” Garrus spoke without emotion, continuing on through doorways that were open, the damage becoming worse the further in they got.

“Nothing—” She hesitated, her emotive mechanical face expressing confusion for a second before she continued to catch up with him. “It didn’t occur to me until now, but I may have luck in changing my parameters to search for Shepard’s cybernetics as opposed to any kind of beacon on her non-existent armor, as Dr. T’Soni pointed out.”

“You can search for that?”

“Based on the serials of the specific cybernetic implants installed by operative Lawson, we may turn up a positive result. Usually, such a function is used in the case of stolen property or illegal cybernetic harvesting. Operative Lawson had given me the coding for all the equipment installed in Commander Shepard in case a situation should have arrived during her work with Cerberus, and Commander Shepard subsequently had me work to alter the data after the attack on Earth so that she couldn’t be tracked by the Illusive Man in the future.”

“Why weren’t you running this in the first place?” Kaidan responded with irritation over the comm.

“It isn’t ideal. The armor would be better suited for finding Commander Shepard. Not to mention, in the case of… vaporization, the implants would be destroyed or damaged enough not to work. It may also only lead us to,” EDI swallowed, an action she needn’t do, but had picked up from her observation of the crew, “…pieces of the Commander.”

Dead silence cut across the radio.

“Do it,” Garrus said, and in response, EDI enabled the change in search parameters.

Almost immediately, a signal sounded in response. Garrus stopped, fear striking through him, as he drew up his omni-tool to confirm. “You reading that, EDI?”

She nodded, and both of them took off in the direction towards which the signal flared. It wasn’t an easy trek, especially not with the gravity turned off and the mazes of hallways and staircases partially obstructed along the way. Every once in awhile something would shift, and Garrus could swear he’d hear the groan of the pieces of the Citadel crunching together or stretching apart.

“Officer Vakarian and I are following a signal to a number of Shepard’s cybernetics, I have forwarded the coordinates to each team,” said EDI as they neared. She knew she shouldn’t have the emotions she was, and what was worse, she wasn’t sure at what point in her life the details had slipped in, but she felt dread inside the mechanical pieces of her body and coursing through the part of her that was still with the Normandy. What would they find when they got there? And if she felt this way now, how would she feel when she saw the Commander, lifeless and mangled? Her emotional thoughts plagued her, rather than the ones and zeroes of her regular processing, the cold hard calculations and algorithms that made the rest of her choices. This was something Shepard had taught her, that Joker had helped her learn, that the rest of Normandy made her understand. And for the first time, she was so consumed and lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t notice the other reading she was receiving until they were almost there.

“There’s…” she fumbled over the words—another first—“…life signs. Faint and erratic, but life signs.”

Garrus paused and looked back to EDI, his own heart suddenly racing. He reached for the pistol at his hip, his assault rifle still on his back. “Something with her?”

“No,” she was quick to respond, “it’s human.”

In seconds, Garrus had unsealed his helmet and clipped it to his waist. “Shepard!” He yelled, pushing aside the beams of metal shrapnel as he continued forward. “Shepard!”

“Commander Shepard!” EDI likewise yelled. Garrus raised a hand to silence her, and for a few seconds they just listened to the quiet until there was the distinctive sound of a struggled breath.

“Shepard!” He yelled again and pushed forward, EDI calling out how much distance remained as they both worked together to get at the jumble of mess.

At the center of it, Garrus saw her, or rather, saw the paleness of her skin, the smears of red blood. An arm. He saw an arm.

The lack of gravity, as difficult as it had been getting to her, was only a help now as he pulled at the larger, weightless pieces of structure. The trick was in trying to untangle where all the bits were hooked in to each other and had pinned Shepard to the ground. When he was close enough to reach her, he did just that, his gloved talons feeling over the length of her arm, a reassurance for both of them that the other was really there.

“Shepard,” he talked as he and EDI continued to move the final piece, which elicited a relieved kind of groan from Shepard as most of the pressure was taken off of her chest with the metal no longer tightly wedged against what remained of her armor.

He’d wanted to weep those hours earlier as he’d absorbed the feel of her death, but now more than ever, he wanted to be able to shed those tears—this time out of pure, unadulterated joy as he saw her face for the first time since she’d kissed him goodbye. Forget the blood stuck to her skin as droplets of it floated in the nearby space around her, the purple bruises beneath her flesh, or the bubbling burns over other parts of her. He was looking at her, and though she may have been hanging on by a thread, she had a pulse and breath, and that would be enough.

“Jane,” his voice shook as he brushed aside strands of free-floating blood-caked hair.

Shepard, for all she was worth, coughed painfully, trying desperately to open her eyes in the direction of his voice. “G-g-garrus,” she stuttered, her voice worn, breaking into a sharp cry for only a second. That was all the strength she had. “I can’t feel… anything.”  
  
—  
  
It was weeks before Shepard was conscious again. Much like the end of her time of being rebuilt in Cerberus’ laboratory, she was kept in a medically-induced coma while her body healed from the worst, and the subsequent surgeries that had kept her breathing at all.

“Don’t talk,” Miranda Lawson said to her as she watched the Commander blink open the one eyelid that wasn’t taped down. “We took the breathing tube out a few hours ago, things will be a little raw for awhile.”  
Shepard’s cut brow wrinkled, an expression of the pain thrumming through her even with the heavy dose of pain killers.

“Do you know your name?” Miranda asked. “Two blinks for yes, one for no.”

Shepard blinked twice, despite how long it took her to clamp down that simple movement. She could barely make out Miranda Lawson’s face, the vision in her one eye blurry but getting better. There was a movement of her left arm, attempting to raise it to her face, but Miranda’s hand gently touched to it, forced it back down.

“We’ve replaced your left eye. It’ll take awhile longer to be functional, but all tests so far indicate you’re taking to it well. Most of the damage was confined to the left side of your body. Shattered bones mostly, but we’ve set and reinforced them. You don’t know how close a piece of shrapnel was to your brachial artery. A millimeter closer and…” Miranda paused, didn’t elaborate. “Your left leg, Shepard,” she shook her head, “gone from the knee down. I’m going to take care of it though,” Miranda promised quietly. “Good as new.”

For all the words Miranda was berating her with, bones and blood vessels and pieces of her missing entirely… Shepard pushed it from her mind. She tried to speak, despite the advice to the contrary she’d been given, but there were no words, no ability to make them come out. Tears fell from her eye as she closed it, a prisoner in her own body. When she opened her eye to look back towards Miranda, she was gone, and that only made the feeling worse. Had she dreamed it all? The end with the Reapers, the Citadel, oh god all those hours she’d laid there drifting in and out of consciousness, praying to a god she didn’t believe in that she’d just die if no one was coming for her. But they had, hadn’t they? For once, saving her instead of the other way around. She closed her eye, listened to the sound of her own breathing, praying when she opened it again she wouldn’t be staring at that dark space.

It was the touch of Garrus’ hand to her cheek that brought her back, eyelid opening on impact of their skin together. Like that answer she’d prayed for, he was there.

“Look like hell, Shepard,” he got his words out just barely, and the tightness of his voice betrayed the emotion he was holding back.

She leaned into the touch of his hand as best she could, ignoring the pain that burned through her when she did. There were so many things she didn’t know or understand, like how long she’d been asleep, if she’d done anything at all in the Citadel, if the Reapers had been defeated like she’d so desperately tried, if anyone else was still alive… but she couldn’t think of anything else except what it meant that he was standing before her.

He read the questions on her face. “It’s over, all of it.” His talons continued to rub her cheek, careful of his claws, though desperate to remind her she remained not alone. “And when you’re put back together,” his voice was quiet, mandibles clicking louder than his words. “We’re taking that vacation.”

The sound she made could only be closely related to what he knew to be a laugh. It was short and quiet, but it was something.  
  



End file.
